“I do,” he says. “With every fiber of my being.”
I smile as the question is reversed. “Do you, Candace Marks, take Rick Savage to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do,” I say. “With every fiber of my being.”
The priest has barely said the words, “I now pronounce you man and wife,” before Rick is kissing me again, and it’s a toe-curling, intense kiss. I’m pretty sure we leave the entire room breathless, even the priest. And when it’s done, Rick whispers in my ear, “I love you, Candace Savage.”
“I love you, too, Rick Savage.”
Now, Rick is smiling as the priest turns us toward the crowd, and what a crowd it is. Luke is watching Julie from the front row. Lauren is between her husband, Royce, the eldest Walker, and Kara. Asher and his wife, Sierra, are there. I even find Smith and Lucifer, too. I see so many faces of those I now call family. The priest proudly announces, “I now introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Savage.”
The room erupts in applause, whispers, and claps. And together, hand in hand, Rick and I walk down the center row toward the doors of the church, married. And it only took us what feels like a lifetime. But what matters is that we still have a lifetime before us.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Candace
I change into a chic, shorter version of my dress for the reception with a few sexy surprises underneath for Rick later.
This portion of our special day is held in a gorgeous building adjacent to the church, complete with a covered and heated courtyard, decorated with the same lilacs in my bouquet. And appropriately, it seems, that is where I throw my bouquet. To my delight, Linda catches it, but then she panics and hands it to Jessica.
Rick and I are laughing as we head back inside and to the front of the room where the cakes await us. One is a towering white coconut cream with all white flowers because Rick insisted that I’m “pure as snow.” Silly man. And his is all chocolate because he’s a “dark as fuck bastard.” His words, not mine. Whatever the case, they turned out beautiful and as a room full of people sitting at cute little tables watches us, we cut the cakes, laughing as we feed each other bites.
When it’s time for the first dance, Rick has them play the song he’d referenced from our vows, Love You Like I Used To, and it’s magical. Everything about the night is magical.
Rick and I dance, we sing, we pose for photos, and we laugh, we laugh so much.
Hours later, we depart the reception and climb into a limousine that drives us home. We’ll leave on our five-hour honeymoon flight tomorrow. Tonight is for us.
We arrive at our apartment and I swear I’m as nervous as the first night I met Rick. Which is ridiculous. He’s my husband now. We walk through the lobby hand in hand and the doorman waves and congratulates us on our new union. Once we’re in the elevator, Rick knows just how to get me over my nerves. He presses me against the wall and his fingers dive into my hair. “Mine,” he says softly. “Wife.”
Just that easily, my nipples are puckered, my sex clenching.
I slide my arms under his jacket and say, “Mine. Husband.”
“Now you can do anything you want to me,” he teases.
I laugh. “But I couldn’t before?”
“Good point, but now it’s legal.”
I laugh again and he kisses me before he whispers, “You said I do.”
I smile. “So did you,” and the minute his mouth comes back down on mine, the elevator doors open.
He steals a quick taste and then captures my hand. “Let’s go home, wifey.”
He leads me out of the elevator and to our door. He unlocks it, kicks it open, and scoops me up. I’m laughing again as he carries me across the threshold, but once inside he sets me down to lock up. I frown, surprised he’s doing that right now when we have other things on our minds. Not that he doesn’t usually lock up, but my gut says he’s still on edge, still worried about trouble. I mean, of course, he is. We have a chaperoned honeymoon.
The apartment now secure, Rick catches my hand and walks me to him, our legs pressed together, the locked door forgotten. And for a moment we just stand there, staring at each other, this crazy mix of heat and emotion burning between us. He moves first, his hand gently cupping my face, the touch, that one touch, managing to lift goosebumps on my skin. That’s how much this man affects me. He leans in, his breath warm, filled with the promise of so many things before his lips caress my lips, so tender, so slow, and I swear I feel him in every part of my body inside and out.
His fingers splay at my hip, and then his mouth slants over mine, and with that connection, it’s as if the passion just explodes between us. We’re kissing and touching, and he’s shrugging out of his jacket and I’m pressed against the wall, his big wonderful body crowding mine. The skirt to my dress ends up at my waist. His palm is on my bare backside, a hot branding that only makes me say, oh yes, God yes. I want more. And that’s what I get. In a blur of heat and desire, the dress is unzipped down the front, and his hand is on my now bare breast, the lingerie I wore for him pushed aside.
“Wait,” I manage with that realization, my hand pressing on his chest. “I have lingerie on for you.”
“We’re just getting started, baby,” he says. “You can model it for me later.”
His fingers curve under my leg, just reaching my sex, and I gasp, but I grab his arm.
“I really want you to see the lingerie.”
He pulls back to study me a moment, and I say, “What?”
“You really want to show me?” he asks.
“Is that bad?”
“No, baby.” His lips curve. “It’s fucking perfect. You’re fucking perfect and I just need to slow down. Not an easy thing to do when you just became Mrs. Savage.”
My lips curve now. “I love how that sounds.”
“Good, because that’s your new name and it’s not changing again.” He kisses me, hard and fast, and then pulls the skirt of my dress down.
I yelp as he surprises me, scooping me up, and starts walking.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Candace
Rick might have reined in the heat momentarily, but he doesn’t even try and make it to the bedroom.
He carries me toward the living room, where he sets me in front of the couch and moves the coffee table, already pulling his button-down over his head and tossing it away. “Show me,” he orders gently.
I grab his waistband and say, “You first.”
He arches a brow. “You want me naked first?”
“For once,” I say firmly. “Yes. You first.”
His eyes dance with mischief and he toes off his shoes. “What the wifey wants, the wifey gets.” He strips down and stands there naked, his thick cock jutted forward, his lean muscular body a magnificent, powerful sight. He’s gorgeous. And he’s mine.
“Now what?” he asks, holding his hands out to his sides.